


Caress

by lauraloves



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Mild Sexual Content, Multi, No Smut, Norges Herligste, Some brofeels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauraloves/pseuds/lauraloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegard's encounter with Big Boy leaves its mark...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VidarsVixens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VidarsVixens/gifts).



> Before season 4 of IKMY started, my dear friend Elaine Weber made a bet that Vegard would sit in Bård's chair. I bet against her, and right at the end of the UNICEF special I lost that bet. The terms of the bet were that the loser had to write for the winner a story of her choosing. 
> 
> The prompt for this story was: "I want you to write a porn about Vegard and Vidar"
> 
> I'm not entirely sure this is what she envisioned, but here it is!

Vegard read somewhere once that humans spend approximately 25 years of their lives sleeping. He considered this a dreadful waste. Imagine what he could do if he never needed to sleep? All those jobs around the house, all those books he could read… and the bed could certainly be put to much better use.  Although he had a vague appreciation that sleep was a physiological requirement, he would wilfully resist until his body protested and he was forced to rest. Oh how it was easy to take sleep for granted when he could indulge as much as he chose.

Yet now he wished for sleep. Desperately.

The baby had started teething, and her painful cries cut through the night and his much-needed slumber. This time, it was his turn to soothe the little one. Not that it made a lot of difference, as the cries awoke them both. Every. Single. Time. The baby had been moved to her own nursery weeks before, and as he stumbled in the dark to reach her he stubbed his toe on the wooden ottoman. He cursed as quietly as possible as he limped into the room with the whitewashed furniture and scooped up the little warm bundle. He held her close, rocking on the balls of his feet in a motion that had proved effectual in the past, but it did no good. He took her downstairs, continuing the rocking motion as he walked into the kitchen. With his free hand he poured some cold water from the tap to rub on her sore gums. This seemed to help, and as the cries abated he continued his loving caress. He watched the sky change colour with the breaking dawn. He checked the time and looked over at his holdall on the floor nearby with a resigned sigh.

He and his brother had been given a brief respite from filming their new TV show, but they were due to fly out to Oslo that morning (in a Boeing 737-800) for a few days of intensive filming. He met his brother/co-host at the entrance to the airport, smiling and evidently well-rested. Vegard immediately wanted to punch him.  Bård quietly appraised his brother before giving a little whistle.

"You look like shit", Bård said.

"Thanks"

"It gets easier though"

"Right"

"It's true! Soon she will be out of the 'crying all night' phase”. The younger man smiled reassuringly. Vegard tried to muster the smile in return, but he was lacking the energy required to configure his facial muscles in the appropriate way. Bård suddenly furrowed his eyebrows as if in thought, before continuing. "Of course then you'll slide seamlessly into the tantrum phase... The hyperactive phase... Then onto the incessant awkward questions phase..." He ignored the scowl that was clouding his older brother's features. "What's next? Oh yes-puberty!"

"Shut up".

Although Vegard counted himself lucky for the unique opportunities he had been given, he was tired. He didn’t have any particular expectations for the day’s filming, although the second man they were due to meet sounded interesting enough. The prospect of meeting a hairdresser with a basement sex shop was admittedly amusing, but at that moment his interest in the man was purely from an entertainment perspective. It wasn’t until they arrived at the grey stone building in Grünerløkka that Vegard’s interest was piqued.

The salon itself was compact, small and a cosy. It was a struggle to get the two presenters, crew and accompanying filming equipment into the space. Then there was Vidar. It wasn’t that he was excessively fat, although he was carrying a few extra pounds. Rather, he encompassed the space with his presence. Vegard was certain he had never seen anyone before more comfortable in his surroundings; he was not bothered in the slightest by the intrusion of the film crew. From the moment they all greeted Vidar, the brothers both agreed that they liked him very much. Vidar was a joy to interview, so open, gracious and polite. Then it was time to film a segment down in the basement, the part that Bård had been looking forward to the most, judging by how he chattered about it on the way over.

One of the things the brothers liked best about filming _Norges Herligste_ was how the crew would work together to devise a concept, make plans, write a script… and then promptly disregard the lot. The unpredictability was a challenge, a thrill. It was an unspoken agreement that the two men would take turns to ‘get involved’ with the hobbies and interests of their interviewees, no matter what that entailed. This time it was Vegard’s turn, so as they descended those creaking wooden stairs into the basement below Bård cackled with glee at the prospect of what Vegard may be subject to. 

Vegard was immediately struck by the sharp contrast with the cosy, comforting surroundings of the salon upstairs. Yet in a strange way the room felt no less welcoming. He didn’t really pay much attention to the various sexual paraphernalia at first. Instead he laid his palm flat on the cool, exposed brickwork, wondering at all the secrets those walls were keeping. After that, he just went with it. Despite having only just met Vidar, he trusted him. He complied willingly with all that was thrown at him in the basement. Even after the first strike of the whip he was all too quick to resume his position, anticipating the second agonising blow, wordlessly begging for more.

By far his favourite part of the day was the moment Vidar guided him into the salon chair and draped the black cape around his neck. It was then that he gave himself over completely, letting the large, warm hands weave through his hair. Every brush of Vidar’s fingertips worked to soothe away the tension he had been holding in. He let his brother take over the interview as he closed his eyes and surrendered to blissful immersion. It was only when he watched the edited footage weeks later that he noted how comfortable he looked. How he took his cue from Vidar to diligently incline his head slightly when needed. How he appeared to luxuriate in the sensation of Vidar towel-drying his silky, dark locks. It was all so koselig.

Vegard didn’t often remember his dreams. So the night the first dream took hold and stayed with him upon waking he was immediately alert to its significance. In his dream he was naked, sitting in a hard-backed chair and watching with curiosity as a small, dark snake slithered towards him, spiralled around his ankle and started travelling up his leg. He didn’t feel any compulsion to move away or shake the snake off. Instead he sat and watched as more snakes approached. Soon he was covered in countless reptilian creatures of various patterns and sizes, gliding smoothly over his bare flesh, winding around his limbs and fixing him securely to the chair. He felt no fear, instead welcoming the weight of the cool scales pressing down on his body as they wound ever tighter.

The dreams came thick and fast after this. They were varied and vivid in nature. In one he had woken up enclosed within a casing of spun silk, unable to move in his beautiful cocoon which was suspended from a great height. He felt a breeze swaying, threatening to separate him from the brittle branch to which he was attached. In another he followed the sound of footsteps down an endless hallway, the taptaptapping driving him wild as he increased his pace in pursuit of something out of reach.

He felt that all his dreams shared a commonality, though maddeningly he couldn’t quite figure it out. Then he dreamt of the basement.

_Vegard was leaning against the wooden frame, body rigid as he stairs above him creaked and groaned under the weight of the person descending them. Nervous excitement pooled within him as the footsteps grew louder, finally halting at the foot of the staircase. It all felt so real, right down to the grains on the painted wood. The energy in the room shifted palpably as the man rounded the corner. Vegard gripped so tightly that his fingernails dug into the wood. Finally he was close behind him, the breath was warm on Vegard’s neck._

_"What do you want?" Vidar spoke._

_Vegard exhaled, and the words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden. "I want you to tie me down and cut my hair"._

_"All in good time", the voice soothed. "But first I want to make my mark on that pretty little butt of yours"_

_Vidar reached up and hoisted the flogger from its place on the wall._

_"Are you sure you want it?" Vidar questioned, brushing the leather over Vegard’s exposed backside, tickling, teasing._

_Vegard didn’t want it. He needed it. Every synapse cried out for it. He choked out his answer. "Yes"_

_"Yes... What?" Vidar countered._

_Vegard shuddered involuntarily. "Yes…master” he breathed, eyes shut tight in anticipation for the first strike._

It was at the moment of impact that he awoke, heart pounding and gasping for air. He reached down between his legs and felt the sticky mess. Profoundly confused by his dream, he tried to forget it; build a brick wall around it so that it could not escape and seep into his conscious memory. But like all the previous dreams, this one left its mark.

 He couldn't say that any one thing compelled him to return. Really it was if a seed had been planted and had sprouted like an invasive weed that entwined around his insides. It seemed like he was continually uncomfortable, restless even. He needed a tonic to soothe his frayed nerves. Then one day he was gifted a new wallet. As he sorted the contents of the old one he found a faded, dog-eared business card. On the front was a web address (bigboy.no), and on the back a little map with a star indicating the location of the salon. Vidar had handed these out to the entire crew upon leaving, but in most cases the cards had been stashed away or discarded. Had Vegard unconsciously kept hold of it? At that moment it didn’t even occur to him that this little card may hold any kind of answer. In fact when he picked up the phone and called the number indicated he didn’t even have a question in mind. All he knew was that next time he was in Oslo he needed to go back. There really was no choice in the matter.

The yellow light of the salon was all that illuminated the dark street. He rarely felt nervous, but there was an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach as he walked in. Vidar was at his small wooden desk, head down scribbling onto an invoice pad. He didn't look up when he entered, just merely greeted the younger man and carried on with his task. Vegard didn't know whether to sit or continue standing awkwardly, so as a compromise he absentmindedly scanned the various adornments on the lacquered shelving unit. He hadn't properly taken them in on his first visit, so now he studied them curiously. Crude phallic trinkets were nestled amongst more traditional ornaments, including a dainty floral china teapot. Yet oddly enough, it all made sense. He was reminded of a phrase Helene liked to say: “ _et plass for alt, og alt på sin plass_ ”.

Vidar had glided soundlessly out of his chair and was standing close behind the younger man. Vegard was startled from his reverie by hot breath on the back of his neck as Vidar spoke. "That belonged to my mother", indicating to the teapot.

Vegard took a step back, alarmed. "My girlfriend loves antiques” he managed to stammer.

Vidar smiled. "It sounds like your girlfriend and I share some common interests. How can I help you?"

Vegard mentally flailed for a response. He had no idea what to say, for he knew as much about hairdressing as he assumed Vidar knew about planes. "Urmm, my ends... they are..." he began as Vidar reached and appraised one of his curls. Vegard realised he hadn’t properly thought this through. Truth be told, he had already had his hair cut only two weeks prior, by a young girl with bleached blond hair and cold, spindly fingers.

Vidar continued to run his hands through some of the strands that tickled at Vegard's neck. "Your hair looks in excellent condition”. He muttered as he eyed Vegard quizzically. “Now, what do you really want?"

Vegard felt a hot flash of panic, and he silently cursed himself. Vidar only exhaled slowly, looking down at the floor with an unreadable expression on his face. When he looked up again his expression was something different entirely. It was not something Vegard could place. Sometimes Helene had that look, when she was thinking of some wicked way to tease him. Although often fearful of that look, it was a look coded in familiarity.

"Sit" Vidar said firmly, and Vegard found himself sinking down into the salon chair. How did that happen? He wasn't aware of a conscious decision to sit down. It was like he was compelled on some primal level.

“Now, just relax. I’ll just take this moment to remind you that what happens here tonight stays between you and me. I am a keeper of secrets.” Vidar placed the black cape and towel over the younger man’s shoulders. “Now, how are you, Vegard?”

Vegard honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had been asked that question, and so he answered, at length. Vidar was easy to talk to. It was good to have an outlet for his daily worries and frustrations. He told Vidar about the busy work schedule, the fractious baby and how he wanted to be there for his partner but that when they finally slumped into bed for a night of broken sleep they were depleted and had very little left for themselves. He had never confided these feelings to anyone before, and he felt almost treacherous for uttering them when he knew he was lucky to be happy and full up with love. He talked all through Vidar washing his hair in the basin. He felt the tension pour away along with the warm water trickling over his scalp.

Vidar sat Vegard back in the chair by the mirror and proceeded to dry his hair. “How old are you, Vegard?”

“Twenty-eight. Why?”

“And you’ve only been with one woman?” Vidar’s question wasn’t really a question, rather a statement.

“Two!” Vegard asserted, wounded. Though in truth this was merely a technicality.

“But you and your girlfriend, you met each other quite young, right?”

Vegard wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going, or what it really had to do with… anything. He simply nodded.

Vidar suddenly switched gear with the conversation. “Your brother was here last month. He’s a smart guy” Vidar mused, combing through Vegard’s slick black locks.

Vegard knew this. Bård had mentioned it only casually in passing, not noticing how Vegard’s head snapped up at the mention of the salon. Bård’s reasons for going were two-fold: first, he happened to be in Oslo and genuinely needed a haircut. Second, he wished to re-establish contact with Vidar with the potential of working with him in some capacity in the future. He had been upfront with Vegard about these plans and both agreed it was a good idea.

Vidar continued. “Do you remember in the interview when your brother asked me who I would prefer?”

Vegard shifted uncomfortably. He tried to steer the conversation. “Uhh yes Bård asked all our interviewees that question… it became a sort of running joke by the end. There was one woman –“

“Vegard” Vidar interjected, quietly but firmly. “Do you know why I favour you?”

Vegard swallowed, pausing before replying nervously. “Because you like ‘dark men’”. The last two words were merely a nervous whisper.

“Well, that is true. But it’s not the reason. It’s because I find you interesting. You’re unusual, Vegard. And it’a not just because of your looks. It’s because of your nature”.

Vegard was now completely lost. He started squirming in his seat, for the first time considering taking back his request and making a hasty retreat. Yet maybe Vidar sensed his discomfort, because right at that moment he put down his comb and scissors and pressed firmly on Vegard’s shoulders. Vegard felt Vidar’s eyes on him through the mirror, and looked down to avoid them. Vidar lifted one hand off his shoulder and gripped his chin. It didn’t hurt, but Vidar applied a reasonable amount of force to get Vegard to redirect his gaze so that their eyes met in the mirror.

“You kept it hidden well. Working with your brother means you have naturally picked up a lot of his habits and mannerisms to shield yourself”.

The sound he emitted was a high-pitched “hæ?” but a gentle warning look in Vidar’s eyes quieted him, and he let him press on.

“But I could sense it in you right away” He continued.

“I still haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about”

“You’re what is called a submissive” Vidar replied.

“I don’t follow”. Vegard muttered nervously.

Vidar tutted, picked up the comb and started working it through Vegard’s wet hair. “Let me explain something. Every relationship, professional or personal, has a dynamic. Each person who enters into a relationship assumes a natural role. For a relationship to work, each party needs to understand their role, their purpose. It’s when a person tries to fit into a role not suited for them that they feel… uncomfortable”.

“What do you mean by ‘role’? Vegard interjected.

“Well, some parties may naturally assume a dominant role. Others take a submissive role. In your relationship with your girlfriend, that has always been you”.

Vegard wanted so badly to speak out, but Vidar’s voice had taken on a hypnotic resonance and for once Vegard struggled to articulate a response. His mouth was dry, as if coated in dust. The undivided attention, combined with the sensation of Vidar combing through his hair, rendered him paralysed. Vidar continued.

“Now that you’ve both become parents, the dynamic has shifted and you’re struggling to adapt. From what you have told me, lately you’ve shouldered a lot of the responsibilities in your relationship. It’s been trying. What you need is for your woman to reassume her role. Maybe more.

“More?” Vegard sputtered, finally finding his voice.

“You love her, I know. But it’s more than that. You want to give yourself over to her. You worship her.” He paused. “At the click of her fingers you would drop to your knees and suck her pretty little toes until she commanded you to stop”.

Felt an involuntary twinge in his gut at those words. It wasn’t something he had ever admitted to himself, but now the truth had been made known to him there was no way he could shrink back into denial. The wall he had carefully built up around himself brick-by-brick had been effectively demolished. It’s not often you discover something new about yourself; the revelation left Vegard reeling. 

“I still don’t understand” Vegard whispered.

“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out”. Vidar paused putting down his comb. He had not cut a single centimetre of Vegard’s hair, a fact which left him disappointed in a way he didn’t yet understand.

Vidar lifted the towel from Vegard’s shoulders. “You know, Vegard. This doesn’t make you weak, or any less of a man. It makes you ‘you’. It makes you both ‘we’. He paused to let the words sink in for a moment, before continuing. “I just think this is something you should both consider exploring”. Vidar leaned down behind Vegard until his lips were ever so gently brushing against his right ear. His hand came up to stroke Vegard’s cheek tenderly. Vegard leaned instinctively into the gentle caress as Vidar whispered:

“I can help you with that.”

 


End file.
